


Of Coffee and Magic

by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, because i can't help myself, coffee shop!AU, just a smidge of angst, meet cute, with a magic twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 10:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky/pseuds/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: There’s a special feeling about opening the café first thing in the morning. The smell of the coffee is stronger than it ever is, the baked goods are still warm and fragrant, and there’s no one there to tell Clarke that everything she’s doing isn’t enough. It’s tranquil, calm, and filled with magic.Also, Clarke is magic, so there is that.~~~When Clarke opened Coffee Ground-ers Café, she knew that it may not be the medical career she thought she’d have, but she could still help people. It was small – almost imperceptible – but Clarke liked to put a little bit of magic in her drinks to make people’s day better. A sprinkle of cinnamon and a dash of luck. Of course, even with the smallest of magic, there are some consequences – she takes the pain from them in order to make her customer’s days a little better. Or as she explains it to her friend Wells, she bears it so they don’t have to.When a customer breaks her out of her morning routine, she does what she always does: takes whatever is hurting him. Except it’s not that simple. Clarke can build the perfect latte, but this doesn’t make sense. He’s not cute. He’s not funny. Seriously, Wells, he’s not.





	Of Coffee and Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelittlefanpire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlefanpire/gifts).



> Happy Valentine’s Day, love!
> 
> I was so excited to receive you as a Valentine, and even more excited to work on this fic! It’s not my usual angst, but almost tooth-rotting fluff (with some angst thrown in, who am I kidding). Have a wonderful, wonderful day and know that this fic is sprinkled with love!

OF COFFEE AND MAGIC

 

There’s a special feeling about opening the café first thing in the morning. The smell of the coffee is stronger than it ever is, the baked goods are still warm and fragrant, and there’s no one there to tell Clarke that everything she’s doing isn’t enough. It’s tranquil, calm, and filled with magic.

 

Also, Clarke _is_ magic, so there is that.

 

So along with taking the pastries out of the oven – twenty minutes for scones, fifteen for croissants – and stocking the milk in the refrigerator, Clarke takes five minutes to stand by the large bay windows at her café and soak up the sun. To the passerby, she may look like she’s simply enjoying the sunrise or basking in the light. However to herself, she’s preparing for the day in a way that she would never share with anyone other than her closer friends:

 

She preparing for a day filled with magic.

 

The secret of success to _Coffee Ground-ers Café_ could be its amazing coffee that is roasted only a few blocks down the road. It also could be the hand-made scones prepared by her bakers Monty and Jasper the night before. But what no one can guess is the small bits of magic Clarke puts in her coffees, one drink at a time, to take the pain and sorrows away from her customers for a moment.

 

On this particular Tuesday, Clarke’s already started the first pot of coffee – the first is always the best – and has placed the fully-proofed pastries in the oven for baking. All the tables have flowers and she’s content with the setup, so she goes over to the bay windows as she does every day to open the blinds.

 

Except on this Tuesday, there’s something exceptionally different. Instead of the view of the park that Clarke loves to look at during the morning lull, sun peaking through the drooping trees and people mulling by on their day, there’s a person. A relatively manic person. His hands are cupped at the window as he peaks through, flinching when Clarke opens the blinds.

 

Quicker than she’s ever seen someone, he straightens and runs his hand through his hair sheepishly, flicking his fingers as if that gives some indication as to what’s going on. He moves away, shoulders slumping as he does so, giving Clarke a pull that she hasn’t felt in a while. Instead of writing him off as her instincts are telling her to do, she moves to the front door and unbolts it, peaking her head out. “Are you okay?” She asks, calling to the man whose already a few paces away.

 

He stops, freezing when she calls to him. It takes a few moments for him to turn around, and when he does, Clarke tries not to startle. He’s clean cut with a large coat draped over his shoulders. In his hands are a couple of worn books, papers sticking out of the pages. “Uh,” he starts. “I was just seeing if you’re open.”

 

Clarke points to a sign on the door. “Our hours are here.”

 

“Ah, yes.” The man says, gesturing toward the sign as if he’d seen it all along. “I, uh—”

 

“Would you like to come in?” Clarke finds herself asking. It’s really stupid, and she knows it. Inviting a stranger who all but one minute ago was pressing his face against the glass as if he could will the shop to open probably isn’t the smartest move she’s made all day – that goes to telling Monty and Jasper to go ahead and make their white chocolate raspberry Danishes to compliment the new almond milk she’s started to buy – but it’s one she’s doing anyway.

 

The man flushes, scratching his unruly curls as he shifts his weight. “Oh! No – I’m so sorry, I can just wait—”

 

“Why don’t you wait inside?” Clarke asks, opening the door wider so that she’s no longer just sticking her head out. “I don’t mind. I could make you a coffee.”

 

“Oh my god,” he breathes and she can see a pinkness coloring his cheeks. “No, No—”

 

“Seriously,” Clarke states, stepping outside and reaching him. He’s tall. Clarke tries not to audibly suck in a breath when she gets closer to him, somehow more attractive up close. His face is speckled with freckles and has dark brown eyes under the layers of unruly curly hair. Without thinking too much about it, Clarke grabs his arm and pulls him toward the entrance. She knows the only reason she can do so is because she’s caught him off guard, but she’ll take it.

 

“No, I-I—”

 

Catching the door with her toes, Clarke swings it open with a graceful flick of her foot. She leads him inside and seats him at one of the only tables she’s had an opportunity to take the chair off the top, placing her hands out. “Stay there.” She says with a smile.

 

For some reason, he does.

 

Clarke’s glad, because she can see the weariness on him. This is the reason she opened the café in the first place. To take the weariness from those who try to find comfort in small things. A croissant, a warm room filled with art, and most importantly, a coffee.

 

Instead of arranging the pastries, Clarke moves toward the espresso machine and froths the milk. She pulls a few shots to wake the machine up – similar to pancakes, the first shot is never good. She runs the machine a few times before placing a porcelain cup underneath. Once she finishes the milk, she pours it gently into the cup, wiggling her hand so it creates waves against the espresso. Flicking her wrist up, she cuts the design down the middle until it makes a flower.

 

Peeking over at the table, Clarke is somewhat surprised he’s still there. He hasn’t taken off his rain jacket, he hasn’t set down his books. Instead, he sits with his legs splayed out and eyes staring blanketly at the wall.

 

Holding the warm cup in her hands, Clarke turns away from him. It’s hard to focus with him in the room – she tells herself it’s always hard to do this when the recipient is only a few yards away, but she knows she’s lying to herself. Closing her eyes, she thinks of sunshine. Light. Happiness, warmth, the feeling of safety. She wills every ounce of it in the cup, the top of the foam shimmering slightly.

 

Pulling a croissant out of the warmer, Clarke places it on a plate and walks the two over. Without asking, she places it in front of him and seats herself across from him. He startles at the noise and stares at her. “What is this?”

 

Clarke smiles warmly. “Breakfast.”

 

“I-I didn’t order anything.”

 

“I’m pretty good at guessing what people want.” Clarke says. “And it wasn’t terribly hard to guess, seeing as you almost made my indoor café an outdoor one.”

 

His cheeks flush again. “I’m sorry, I—”

 

She places a hand up. “It’s okay. We all need something sometimes.”

 

The man clears his throat. Taking the hood of his rain jacket off, he asks, “What do I owe you?”

 

“Nothing. First time customers are free.” Clarke says. Extending her hand, she continues, “I’m Clarke.”

 

“Bellamy.” He says. “Seriously, you don’t have to.”

 

“I know.” She grins, getting up out of the chair. “That’s what makes it fun.”

 

He blinks, as if startled that someone would do something kind simply because they could. Clarke tries not to ache over that, but instead gives him one last smile before moving to another table to take the chairs down. She putts around, getting the shop ready for the morning, and it hits her.

 

It starts as an ache, but it builds and builds until she has to set down the coffee mug she’s cleaning and lean against the sides of the counter.

 

It’s the one downside of magic. There’s always a price. She loves taking away the small grievances of those in the world. She loves watching their faces change as they sip their coffees, the weight of the world lessening, if for just a few moments. Except she takes it. The pain can’t just _evaporate._ It has to go somewhere.

 

Or as she explains it to her best friend, she bears it, so they don’t have to.

 

Some days are easier than others. Some days, its nothing more than a chest pain that lingers as she wipes counters. Some days she can ignore it all together. But today? Today it sinks into her bones and she needs to take a deep breath. There’s a small latte on the counter that she’s sipping from – a routine she does every morning, making the excuse that she needs to make sure the machine is calibrated correctly – and she picks it up, her hands shaking a bit.

 

Turning her attention back to the man, she smiles when she sees that he’s taken his jacket off and there’s a few scattered papers on the table. He absently brings the coffee to his lips and she can _see_ the weight start to lift. She focuses on that and tries to ignore the headache that making it hard for her to focus.

 

It almost changes him. The tension that seems to have been propping up his bones loosens and there’s no longer a sharp energy in the air. After a few moments, her own headache starts to fade into something dull behind her eyes, so she moves to officially unlock the door.

 

Like with almost every morning, it’s busy from the moment the shop opens. She likes to make sure her employees don’t have to work the early shifts, but she’s relieved when Harper bounds through the door. Harper says a quick good morning to Clarke, grabs her apron, and jumps right in, giving Clarke a moment to take a breath.

 

Before she can do so, someone takes it away all over again.

 

Bellamy approaches the counter with his empty plate and cup, an easy smile on his face. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I know how weird that must’ve been for you, but I really appreciate it. It’s exactly what I needed this morning.”

 

Clarke ignores the customers calling for coffees or pastries, letting the busy sound melt away. “Of course. I know it’s a small thing, but coffee always makes me feel better.”

 

“Yeah,” he says, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Surprisingly, they do.”

 

“Well, be sure to come back.” Clarke says before she can stop herself. “First order is free, but I fully expect your loyalty from here on out.”

 

Bellamy laughs at that, his entire face transforming into sunlight. “Don’t worry, you have mine now.”

 

“I expect nothing less.” When a customer makes a disapproving noise, Clarke sucks in a breath. “I should help Harper. I hope your day gets better.”

 

Bellamy blinks. “It already has.”

 

It shouldn’t, but something flutters in her chest. Something that makes it so that she temporarily doesn’t worry about the coffee shipment, doesn’t think about the line that’s slowly getting closer to the door. It makes her forget her headache and everything along with it. “Good.”

 

He places a hand on her arm. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

“I’d hope so.”

 

“Clarke!” Clarke flinches when Harper calls her name. “Can you get more almond milk from the back?”

 

“Of course!”

 

When she turns back, Bellamy’s out the door. Except before he passes the window, he waves at her, Clarke returning the gesture. Ignoring how her stomach feels, Clarke sprints to the back and returns with an arm full of almond milk for Harper. “Who was that?” She asks, a curious smile on her lips.

 

“No one,” Clarke says far too quickly for anyone to believe.

 

The great thing about Harper is that she doesn’t push it. Instead, she continues to call the line while Clarke situates herself at the espresso machine, wondering absently if this is how her coffee makes people feel.

 

***

 

It’s the Wednesday afternoon lull when she sees him next.

 

Jasper and Monty are in the shop, causing a ruckus when they deliver their afternoon pastries, as they always do. Clarke’s wiping down tables as they animatedly share stories about the shenanigans they got into the night before, Clarke rolling her eyes. “How do you cause that much trouble on a Tuesday?” She exclaims once they finish their story about attempting to play drunken Jenga.

 

“The real question is, Clarke,” Jasper states as he clicks a pair of tongs at her that should be being used to restock the pastry case. “Is how _don’t you_ cause that much trouble on a Tuesday? That’s what Tuesdays are for! Trouble! Trouble Tuesdays! That’s why people say that.”

 

“No one says that.”

 

“I say that!” Monty offers, peer from around a handful of boxes he’s carrying inside. “Trouble Tuesdays!”

 

“Okay, you so do not count babe.” Harper laughs from behind the register. As he passes, Monty gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, the precarious boxes wavering slightly.

 

“How do I not count?”

 

“You and Jasper will always agree on your stupid shenanigans.” She says endearingly. Monty is clearly too smitten to take offense and Clarke can’t help but laugh at them.

 

The door jingles and everyone looks up. Clarke can’t help it, she breathes sharply – something she knows Harper catches. Bellamy walks through the door, his hands filled with books and papers again, searching around the café until he locks eyes with Clarke. “Hey!” He calls, eyes lighting up when he sees her.

 

“Mystery man is back,” Harper says quietly in a sing-song voice, Monty almost dropping the pastries on the ground.

 

“Mystery man!” He cries in what Clarke marks down as the least subtle thing she’s ever experienced. She can’t help it, her cheeks blaze and she wants to hide behind the counter.

 

Bellamy’s eyebrows raise at that and Clarke whirls to face him. “How would you like to be murdered with a scone?”

 

“Not possible,” Jasper says, taking a giant bite out of one. “They’re too moist.”

 

“Moist?” Clarke says, eyes wide. “Off the table.”

 

“Copy that.”

 

“Hey Clarke.”

 

Clarke whirls around and faces him. “Hey Bellamy.” She tries to come off as casual and misses the mark by a lot. Clearing her throat, she tries again. “Good to see you.”

 

“Of course, I told you that my loyalty is easily bought with treats.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“He _is_ the treat.” Jasper murmurs to Monty and the two high five. Clarke makes a mental note to murder him later.

 

“What can we get you?” She asks.

 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Monty says, waving his hands in the air. “Don’t act all casual and not introduce us. What, are you embarrassed of us?”

 

“Absolutely embarrassed.” Clarke says, closing her eyes. But she can’t help the fond smile that creeps on her face. “This is Jasper and Monty, my bakers. I put up with them because they’re wizards with flour.”

 

Jasper flicks his fingers. “In college, we made this moonshine that could get everyone wasted in almost thirty minutes. That’s when we discovered our mutual talent for putting flavors together.”

 

Bellamy eyes the pastry case. “I have to go back to work and so I can’t get drunk. Also, it’s one in the afternoon.”

 

“Time is a construct and life is a party.” Jasper says, putting his hands up.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “They keep the mixology at home, no alcohol allowed here.”

 

“That you know of.”

 

“You realize I can hear your, right?”

 

“I do now.”

 

Clarke tries to sigh but it comes out as a laugh. “Wondering why you came back?”

 

“Actually, no.” Bellamy laughs. “This is officially the highlight of my day.”

 

Clarke tries not to show any emotion to that. It doesn’t matter, because Monty and Jasper are showing enough for her. Thank god for Harper, who places a hand on Monty and Jasper’s face and shoves them backwards. “Can we get you something? I’m Harper.”

 

“Bellamy. And yesterday I had the best coffee of my life.”

 

“Clarke’s really good about that.” Harper says with a smile. “People will wait an extra ten minutes to have their coffee made by Clarke. She makes them feel better.”

 

“I can see it.” Bellamy says with a small smile, stealing a look at her. She has to break it and glance down to the floor.

 

“May I also recommend the homemade strawberry poptart?” Harper says. “I know Jasper and Monty look like they’d accidentally murder someone if left unsupervised, but they’re actually one of the best things you’ll ever eat.”

 

“I really am not a big sweets person.”

 

“I never understood people who said that.” Jasper says.

 

Monty nods. “Same.”

 

“Seriously, you won’t regret it.” Harper says, putting it in the toaster oven.

 

“I-I never said I wanted it—”

 

“Shut up, you’re getting the poptart.” Clarke says. “Take a seat, I’ll make your coffee.”

 

“So bossy,” Bellamy chuckles. “Has anyone told you that you’re bossy?”

 

“I tell her every day.” Jasper calls from behind the pastry case.

 

“He does.” Clarke says while frothing milk.

 

She can’t help it, as she makes his coffee, she sneaks a few looks his direction. He spreads a few papers in front of him, chewing on the lid of the pen he’s using to mark it up with. “He’s cute.” Harper says softly, waiting by the oven, clicking her tongs.

 

“Yes, he is.” Clarke says carefully. Objectively, it’s true. If she said no, Harper would think something was up. And nothing is up. Objectively he’s good looking.

 

“He came back for you.”

 

“No,” Clarke says too quickly. “He came back because we make the best coffee in town.”

 

Also Clarke is magic, but no one else needs to know that.

 

Clarke places her hands on the mug and pours as much lightness as she can in the mug. There’s a small part of her that doesn’t want to do it. She takes people’s pain all the time, but she never has done it outside of wanting to help. But it’s different with people she’s connected with.

 

“—Clarke, do you want me to deliver it?” Harper asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

 

“Uh, no. I can do it.”

 

“Of course you can.”

 

“I’m sure she can.” Jasper mutters, leaning in.

 

Clarke decides that she’s not going to say anything against that. She moves toward the table with the drink and sets it down in front of his papers. “Here you are.” She says, trying to ignore how he’s tucked another pen behind his ear despite one in his hand. She tries not to find it endearing. She fails. “One latte.”

 

“You know, I was never a big latte person.” Bellamy says, lighting up. “I didn’t want to say anything because you were so nice to me and let me in. But now? I didn’t even know what I was missing.”

 

“Power of a good cup of coffee.” Clarke says. “I told you that I was good at guessing these kinds of things.”

 

“You did.” He smirks. “I suppose I just have to learn to trust you then.”

 

Clarke taps her fingers on the table. “It’d be in your best interest to do so.”

 

“I’m getting that.” Bellamy says, a small smile playing on his lips as he takes a drink.

 

Clarke does her best to remain neutral when she turns to go back behind the bar, her staff being no help whatsoever.

 

***

 

“Munchkin alert!”

 

Clarke leaps up form where she’s sweeping the crumbs out of the pastry case to two of her favorite people in the world walking through the door. Wells leads a spritely teen through the doors of the café, his eyes wide with exasperation as she skips in. “Clarke!”

 

“Madi!” Clarke cries, setting her broom to the side.

 

“Take this child from hell away from me.” Wells groans, throwing his hands up in the air when she sprints in.

 

“Wells,” Clarke says sharply as Madi laughs, throwing her backpack against an empty chair.

 

“You didn’t have to sit in a car ride with her and deal with the most uncomfortable round of twenty questions in my life.”

 

“He embarrasses so easily.” Madi giggles as she takes her books out of her backpack.

 

“Madi, stop harassing Wells.” Clarke snorts, turning back to the espresso machine.

 

“But it’s so _fun_.”

 

“I know it is—”

 

“Hey!”

 

“—but if you keep doing it, he won’t pick you up anymore.”

 

Madi makes a face. “Ugh, fine.”

 

“Ugh, fine.” Wells mutters petulantly under his breath as he moves behind the bar and slides next to Clarke. She chuckles at him as she heats up the milk, pouring some melted chocolate in a mug. “Where is my free tea? I demand payment for my suffering.”

 

“It’s brewing in the corner, it should be done in a couple minutes.”

 

“It’s specialty-free, right?” Wells asks, lowering his voice and growing serious. “No extra… ingredients?”

 

Clarke makes a face at him. “Of course not.”

 

“Seriously Clarke, you know how I feel about—”

 

“I said no, Wells.”

 

Wells huffs next to her, crossing his arms. She hates that he always brings this up, but she knows how he feels about what she does here. The crease between his eyes deepens whenever he sees the after effects of the magic. He also doesn’t hold back in telling her as well.

 

They reached an agreement when they were fourteen: she did what she wanted and he complained about it. Most importantly, she was never to use her cheer-up magic on him because he hated the idea of her taking his pain. One time in college, she took it after a breakup and it caused a fight that almost ended their friendship. Now? Now he grumbles at her, says unhelpful comments, and then holds her hair back when she throws up from people’s pain.

 

It’s not a perfect system, but it works.

 

A timer goes off and Wells turns it off, pulling the strainer out of the teapot. “So who’s this Bellamy guy?” He asks, switching subjects too quickly for Clarke to realize what he asked.

 

“What?”  


“Jasper and Monty have been texting me non-stop since yesterday about some dreamboat named Bellamy who apparently you need to marry? And have endless sexual tension with?”

 

Clarke makes a face. “Blech, endless sexual tension? Really Wells?”

 

“Direct quote from Jasper. Trust me, I do not want to be saying these words.” Wells grimaces, pouring a cup tea from the pot. “Seriously? Are you kidding me, Clarke?”

 

“Bellamy is… nothing!” Clarke says a little too loud.

 

“Really, Clarke? Jasper and Monty know more about your love life than I do?” Wells cries exasperatedly. “ _Jasper and Monty_. Sure, if it was Harper, I’d understand. But _Jasper and Monty_? They will tease you relentlessly, but I actually care. It is my right as your best friend to get all the details first. My _right_. And I know nothing!”

 

“Because there’s nothing to tell!”

 

“This is classic Clarke Griffin dodging right here,” Well says, sipping his tea and tapping his finger at her. “It’s like the time you were seeing that girl Niylah and all you would say is she was good at various sporting endeavors. Which meant she was good in bed and you had _feelings_ but you didn’t want to talk about it. I can see right through you.”

 

“Well, get your eyes checked.” Clarke snaps. “Because there’s nothing to see here.”

 

“Why are you always so hesitant with all this stuff?” Wells asks. “You’re awesome and—” Wells’ eyes widened. “Oh my god, it’s the special stuff.”

 

“Please god, stop calling it that.”

 

“But it is, isn’t it?” Wells hisses. “It’s because you took his pain, just like you took everyone else’s pain, and you don’t think he likes _you_ , you think he’s connected to your magic!”

 

“Wells, please _stop._ ”

 

“No! I hate that you do this—”

 

“You made this very clear.”

 

“You can’t just take everyone’s pain all the time Clarke.”

 

Clarke tries not to let her frustration get the best of her. “I told you, Wells, I bear it so—”

 

“—they don’t have to, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I’ve heard the party line and it’s total bullshit.” Wells snaps. “You can’t just go around taking people’s pain. I know you think you’re helping—”

 

“I _am_ helping—”

 

“But tomorrow they’ll wake up and they’ll still have their problems!”

 

“I believe that what I do is important, Wells!” Clarke whispers. “People deserve to feel better. And sure, it doesn’t go away entirely, but for a small moment, they have a safe space.”

 

“But what about you, Clarke?” Wells asks. “What about you and you getting a safe space?”

 

“Wells—”

 

“Mr. B!”

 

The two are torn out of their argument at Madi’s cry, far too close to them. “Madi?” A familiar voice asks, surprised. “Do you work here? Wait, is that legal?”

 

“I needed the money in order to fuel my sugar addiction.”

 

“Oh my _god_ , Madi, stop telling people you’re illegally employed or I’m not going to give you your hot chocolate—Bellamy.” Clarke says quickly, freezing when she sees the customer at the counter.

 

“Bellamy?” Wells asks, a note of excitement in his voice that Clarke doesn’t like at all.

 

Bellamy stands at the counter where Madi stands next to the register with her hands folded on the counter. Clarke blinks and regroups. “Madi, I’ve told you a million times – no behind the bar.” She points back to where her backpack is strewn across the table. “Get out.”

 

“You were taking a really long time to make my hot chocolate.” Madi says, slowly moving around the other side of the bar. “I came to see if you and Wells were fighting. My money’s on Clarke.” She whispers to Bellamy.

 

“That’s not fair, of course she would win!” Wells exclaims indignantly, crossing his arms.

 

Clarke sighs, placing a hand on her back and leading her back to her table. “If I remember correctly, you have a paper due.”

 

“Yeah, in Mr. B’s class!” Madi says, gesturing to Bellamy. “Hey – can you give me pass?”

 

Bellamy looks more confused than she’s ever seen and she tries to not find it completely endearing. “Why would I do that?”

 

Madi thinks about this. “Well, I could get you free drinks here because I have an in with the boss.”

 

“Madi, stop trying to use my café to get free A’s in your class.” Clarke says, leading him closer to the table. “Did I hear her call you Mr. B?”

 

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck. “I’m a history teacher at the Ark Middle School. Madi’s in my fourth period class.”

 

“Mr. B is the best.” Madi says, kneeling on a chair in a way that Clarke hates, so that it tips on its front two legs. “Last week, he had us do a trial of the Boston Massacre and I made a guy in my class cry. It was awesome.”

 

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him and Bellamy just shrugs.

 

“He also says that history all comes down who writes it and we have a biased point of view due to who is writing and teaching it, so we have to suffer through the curriculum of dead white guys. Also, anonymous is usually a woman. Also other things because people tended to steal women’s ideas.”

 

“He’s not wrong.” Clarke says, unable to stop herself from smiling. “But stop trying to use my café for good grades. The whole point of our time together is to show you that working hard is beneficial.”

 

“Actually, it’s the free hot chocolate.”

 

Bellamy puts a hand up. “I wouldn’t have taken the bribe.”

 

“You should,” Madi says, taking the hot chocolate out of Clarke’s hands. “Clarke makes the best drinks.”

 

“She does. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to use one of my students to get an endless supply.” Bellamy agrees. “How do you two know each other?”

 

“She’s my big sister.” Madi says casually, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and all but melting into her chair. Clarke tries to ignore the headache and sharp pains in her chest when Madi does so, sucking in a breath. Wells crosses his arms and glowers when he catches her and she tries to wipe her face clean.

 

When Bellamy frowns, Clarke clarifies, “From the Big Sister program. Madi has been my Little Sister for almost two years now.”

 

“One year, nine months, and twenty days.” Madi says without looking up from mug. She digs into her bag and pulls out a calculator. “Clarke, can I have a cookie too? I’ve heard spurts of sugar helps the brain.”

 

“Where on earth did you possibly hear that?” Clarke asks.

 

“On the radio?”

 

“She’s lying,” Wells says. “She’s fourteen, she doesn’t listen to the radio.”

 

Madi grabs her hot chocolate spoon and jabs it at him. “Snitches get stitches.”

 

Wells fixes Clarke a look. “And you wonder why I don’t like picking her up.”

 

“Okay, I’ll get Madi a cookie, Wells enjoy your tea. Bellamy, coffee?” Clarke asks, throwing Wells a glare. He returns it, sticking out his tongue as he pours himself another cup of tea. It’s great to know that their friendship has matured over the years.

 

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, but instead of finding an open table to work at, he follows her to the counter and leans across it. “Although, I’m realizing not that I should be thanking you.”

 

Clarke frowns. “Thanking me?”

 

“You know, almost two years ago, Madi was almost unteachable. My colleagues even called her feral at times. But over the past two years, she’s calmed down. Don’t get me wrong,” Bellamy says, putting his hands up. “She’s still strong and opinionated, but she’s one my favorite students. Never backs down from a fight.”

 

Clarke laughs at that. “That’s Madi alright,” she says fondly, casting a glance at the girl seated at the table. For all their bickering, Wells joins her at the table with his tea and he points a few things out in her textbook and she listens to him, taking notes as he talks. “She was just hurting and needed an outlet.”

 

“Oh, I get it, don’t get me wrong.” Bellamy says. “Trust me, I used to be a Madi when I was younger. Angry, afraid, lashing out. It’s… really great what you do. It means a lot. Even if she doesn’t say it out loud.”

 

Clarke places the steam wand into the pitcher, trying to hide the blush creeping on her cheeks. “Madi’s great, she just needed someone to be there.” Taking a cup and saucer and placing it in front of Bellamy, Clarke pours the milk with a little flourish. Placing her hands on the side of the cup, she pushes a little magic into it as she slides it forward. “That’s what we all need, though, right?”

 

Bellamy takes a sip and sighs. “Seriously, you make the best coffee in town. I don’t understand why there’s not a line out the door at all times.”

 

“We have our moments.” She says, not even trying to hide her smile. “Is that what you’re doing when you’re here? Grading papers?”

 

Bellamy reaches into his bag and pulls out a handful of sheets. “Care to give your thoughts on the themes of _The Odyssey_?”

 

Clarke makes a face. “No.”

 

“What a Philistine, not looking to the past to understand the future.” Bellamy snorts, setting the papers on the counter. “You need to realize that history is much cooler than it appears in movies.”

 

Clarke can’t help but snort at that. “Oh my gosh,” she says, turning off the frother. “If I knew that you were such a history nerd, I never would’ve let you in that morning.”

 

“Is that so?” Bellamy asks, leaning against the counter. “And here I thought it was a great way to pick up the ladies.”

 

“What pickup guide are you referencing?” Clarke asks, laughing. “Because I think you need to update your books.”

 

“Are you seriously telling a historian to update his textbooks?”

 

“You’re the one who says history needs to be updated to involve other perspectives!”

 

“Touché.” Bellamy says, sipping his coffee. Clarke tries to ignore the aching in her chest. He frowns at the flash, so she tries to wipe her expression clean. “So, Ms. Destined to be Usurped by History Ironically, tell me about the café. Why coffee? Why this place?”

 

Clarke turns to give him a barb back, but instead thinks about the question. “Well,” she says, pouring milk in a cup that has a shot in the bottom. She brings it to her lips and take a sip. “I like making people feel better.” She settles on, eyeing where Wells is with Madi. Usually he’s good at hijacking conversations that even get remotely close to her magic, but he’s deep in a conversation about geometry. “I was in medical school for a while. It was fine, and I think there’s a part of me that will always love helping people in that way, one night in a study group, I made people some treats and some coffees. Nothing fancy, just bought some cheap frother from IKEA and it was crazy how a sleep-deprived group of people perked up after that. So in our study groups I kept making new drinks, trying new pastries, doing whatever I could to make them feel a little better about how stressful everything was.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “After a while, I realized that there are many ways in helping people, even if it isn’t the way you once thought. And while a lot of people may think it’s silly, I think that there’s a lot to be said for a good cup of coffee.”

 

“I don’t think that’s silly.” Bellamy says, leaning closer. “I mean, when you let me in, I—” He winces. “I was in a rough place. I hadn’t slept and I was just… my sister just told me she was moving out of state and I dunno… I couldn’t sleep and then suddenly just found myself at your café.”

 

“I’m so sorry. Are you two close?”

 

“We’ve lived together since I was sixteen and our mom died.” Bellamy’s eyes widened. “Wow, that was so much of an overshare. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” Clarke says too quickly to ever seem casual. “I told you. I think it’s important to have spaces where we can regroup and feel a little better than before.”

 

A part of her is telling herself that she’s crossing a line. That she’s putting herself in a position she can’t win because magic tangles everything into a mess that she often can’t bring herself to sort. But she ignores her better judgment and grabs his arm. “Even if it’s as silly as a cup of coffee.”

 

He doesn’t pull away from her. Instead he leans in, his elbows on the papers he flaunted just moments ago, his coffee cup almost empty. She finds it hard to look away, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. So instead, in the midst of the roasting smells, the grinding of beans, and gentle chatter of regulars, she smiles at him.

 

“Clarke!”

 

When Madi calls her name, she leaps back as if she’s been burned. Bellamy looks a bit sheepish too, smiling as he grabs his cup and papers, finding a table a few spaces away from where Madi and Wells sit. “Yeah,” She asks, running her hands down her apron.

 

“…are you going to get me my cookie?”

 

“Yes!” She exclaims far too loud. “Yes, I was heating it up.”

 

“Really?” Wells drawls. “Because I can tell from here that that toaster oven isn’t on.”

 

Clarke casts him a dark look. “Wells, I love you, but let me remind you that I have incriminating anecdotes that I am more than happy to share with Gina, not excluding that time in middle school when you decided you wanted to try—”

 

“Oh- _kay!_ ” Wells exclaims, standing up abruptly from where he is and clasping his hands over Madi’s ears. “Do _not_ give her more ammunition against me! Don’t you understand? This is a war and she is trying to mow down my defenses and if I don’t remain alert—”

 

“Wells, she’s fourteen.” Clarke states, setting the cookie in front of Madi. The girl shakes Wells’ hands off her ears and tears off a piece, turning her attention back to her worksheet. “Find a more age-appropriate arch nemesis, please?”

 

“That’s what’s wrong with people like you.” Wells states, pointing down at where Madi’s scribbling on her paper. “You underestimate kids. You are blinded by their cuteness so you don’t see they’re the spawn of Satan!”

 

Madi giggles, but doesn’t look up.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I believe in you, Wells. Don’t be taken down by a teenager.”

 

“They will insult you in very accurate ways!”

 

Clarke tries not to laugh at her best friend, but finds she can’t stop when Bellamy says as she passes, “He’s not wrong, you know. Middle Schoolers are awful.”

 

“You’re a teacher!”

 

“Yeah, and as a teacher I can tell you they’re awful.” He laughs. “I mean, they’re awesome, I can’t imagine doing anything else, but they have a way of pointing out every flaw you hate about yourself and then moving on. So you’re not even important.”

 

“That’s comforting.” Clarke says. “I’ll be sure to remind Wells that he’s not important later.”

 

“It sounds better in context.”

 

“No, no context for you.”

 

She returns to her work, the end of the day wearing on her. Once the afternoon hits, all the pain and aching throughout the day catches up with her. She hates it when Wells is here in the afternoon because it’s one more instance where he can point to it and tell her what an idiot she’s being, so she turns around and rubs her temples, trying to will her headache away.

 

Glancing in the pastry case, Clarke notices there’s one cookie left. It’s a novelty, these cookies. They’re the easiest and most inexpensive to make, but Jasper and Monty love doing it because they make everyone smile. It’s a simple circle with jagged edges from their cutters. On the top is royal icing that they learned to make perfectly by watching too many episodes of _Great British Bake Off_ and then made it a vibrant yellow that she’s certain Paul Hollywood would despise. Over the yellow is a simple smile face.

 

It was Monty’s idea when Jasper was having a bad day.

 

Taking it out of the case and placing it on a plate, Clarke brings it over to Bellamy and sets it down. He glances up from where he’s focused on a paper, glasses fallen down to the bridge of his nose and there’s a streak from the pen across his cheek. “Why are you always giving me these pastries?” He asks, pushing his glasses back up. “I’m going to have to go to the gym more and I hate the gym.”

 

“We all hate the gym.” Clarke says, shoving the happy-face cookie forward. “Listen, I’m really sorry about your sister. We don’t have to talk about it or anything, but I am sorry. And while you may grumble about having to go to the gym, I’m here to inform you that ‘feel-better-cookies’ have no calories. So you shouldn’t worry about that.”

 

“Feel-better-cookies?” Bellamy repeats. “Does Dr. Oz know about you?”

 

“Dr. Oz wishes.” Clarke smiles at him. “It’s okay to feel sad about it. But I’ve learned over the years that there’s nothing quite like a cookie and a coffee to make you feel better, even if just for a second. Trust me, it’s science.”

 

“Trust the person making me eat endless pastries? What could possible go wrong here?”

 

“Eat the cookie.” Clarke says, turning away from the table. “If anything, it’s free. And who knows? It may actually make you feel better.”

 

“If it’s anything like the coffee, I’m sure it will.”

 

Clarke finishes the rest of her shift in relatively good spirits, taking a few aspirins in some vain hope that it may be an actual headache instead of a magic-induced one. Of course it’s not the case, but it was worth a shot.

 

“Mr. B, since you’re here, can I ask you a question about this?” Clarke hears Madi ask when she’s in the back, grabbing sugar boxes to refill the tables.

 

“Of course, something confusing you?”

 

“Yeah, you say here that we need to pick a Greek myth to compare to modern day and relate the themes to literature, but can we choose real people? Or does it have to be, like, a book or song or something?”

 

“As interesting as it would be to read your analysis of real people, I think we should stick to books and music as discussed in class.”

 

 

“Oh, alright.” Madi sounds disappointed, but there’s something else in her voice. Clarke knows it. It’s been used on her many times in order to get something. “Clarke’s awesome, isn’t she?”

 

Clarke all but groans, placing her forehead against the door frame.

 

“Yeah, she’s great.”

 

“You know, she and Wells aren’t dating. I know they fight like they’re an old married couple, but that’s because they’ve known each other their whole lives. And Wells is dating someone who is way out of his league.”

 

_“Hey!”_

 

Clarke can almost see the indignation on Wells’ face. But also the endearment. Sure, the two snipe at each other, but she sees the real sibling love there. She’s never had a sibling, but between the two of them, she feels like she does.

 

“Okay,” Bellamy says slowly. “That’s nice?”

 

“It is nice.” Madi continues. “You know, I know you’re my teacher and all that, but you should be extra special to Clarke because she’s awesome and deserves it.”

 

“I’m sorry, have I done something to upset you?”

 

“No, I just think that I should let you know that if I wanted to, I could let a pig loose in your classroom.”

 

“Wow, so many things to unpack here. One, where would you find a pig, we live in a metropolitan area? Two, do you really think threatening me as I’m grading your last paper is a good idea? And three, what are you talking about?”

 

Clarke knows exactly the face Madi’s making. She tries to figure out if it’d be better or worse if she stepped out into the café, but instead just freezes and doesn’t make any sort of decision.

 

Fortunately, Madi doesn’t draw it out. “Oh, you know. I just feel like I should share that information.”

 

“I have more questions.”

 

“I actually have to write this paper. The teacher is a real stickler for deadlines.”

 

Clarke pounds her forehead against the doorframe once more for good measure.

 

***

 

There is one day a year that Clarke doesn’t take anyone’s pain. One day a year where she takes the day off, stays in her sweats, puts on ridiculous Hallmark movies, and orders takeout for every single meal.

 

Except this year, she didn’t really think about it.

 

When Harper asked for the day off to celebrate her anniversary with Monty, she didn’t think twice. Clarke had other help, but was in the middle of the mid-morning rush on a Saturday when it hits her.

 

All morning, she’s been putting luck in lattes, pushing magic in mochas, and hope in hot chocolate. She isn’t more tired than she usually is on a Saturday morning rush, but there’s something buzzing in the back of her head that she can’t quite shake.

 

“Morning Betsy, are we having the usual today?” Clarke asks to an elderly woman who barely makes it to the counter. She sets her bag on it, bobbles rattling against the counter.

 

“Yes please, would you mind wiping down the table by the window? I love watching the sun shine through the trees.”

 

“Of course,” Clarke says with a smile. “That’s my favorite seat in the café too.”

 

“I had to make sure to get here quick so I could get the best table here. I’m so excited it’s the fifteenth because my grandson is coming to join me. I’ve been looking forward to this day for—”

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Clarke asks, pausing with a rag in her hand.

 

The woman sets her stuff down at the table. “My grandson is coming to visit today and I—”

 

“No, no,” Clarke says distantly, suddenly her hands tingling. Her chest tightens and she _feels_ everything. Turning, she sees everyone taking drinks of the coffees she’s made them. Betsy even sets her cappuccino on the table and takes a big sip, foam creeping up her lip. “N-No, it can’t be the fifteenth, it can’t—”

 

As soon as the woman drinks, everything hits her all at once.

 

Everyone always says that loss never truly leaves you. That it remains dormant until it isn’t, demanding to be let out. Clarke’s found this to be true many times, but usually it is a quiet space.

 

Not today.

 

Clarke’s heart pounds in her ears when she gazes around at shop filled with customers. They drink their coffees and she’s aware of every sip. Her chest starts to ache and she feels her heart pounding and soon she can barely see in front of her. Everything is muffled and fuzzy, but bright and painful all at the same time and she has no idea how that can be.

 

A figure comes in front of her face and she’s vaguely aware of someone grabbing her shoulders. Everything _hurts_ and everything’s _loud_ and she can’t focus. There are shooting pains running up her side and breath won’t come to her. She tries to calm down, but everyone’s blurring.

 

“—larke? Clarke?” Someone is saying, but she _feels everyone_.

 

She feels the pain of loss of a pet. She feels the ache of a distance sibling. She feels the pain of lost love, of lost family, of loss of loss of loss of loss—

 

“Come with me.” The person says, leading her behind the bar.

 

It all _hurts_.

 

There’s a small part of her brain that knows she shouldn’t be in the back. She should be in the front, running her business that she worked so hard to build up from the ground. But she’s shaking and can feel her legs giving out from underneath her. Fortunately, whoever is with her gently leads her to the ground. They then leave and for some reason, she feels the absence too much.

 

Bringing her knees to her chest, she tries to calm herself down. It’s so unsuccessful, she starts to see double, unable to catch her breath. Curling on herself, she tries to calm down, but she can’t. She reaches for her throat, but she can’t breathe.

 

The figure sits down next to her and then grabs her, hoists her onto their lap, and wraps their arms around her. Tightly.

 

It’s shocking. Her chest tightens, but for once, it’s helpful. The surprise of the pressure causes her to suck in a breath and then another. Another. And then another. She breathes enough to realize that she’s being tied to this earth, and she doesn’t know how it’s possible.

 

When she finally calms down, Clarke continues to hold on the person next to her.

 

When her vision slowly returns back to normal, Clarke takes stock of everything around her.

 

She’s in the supply pantry. She’s surrounded by bags of coffee beans and bags of flour. There’s someone pressed against her back and she holds onto them.

 

“You’re okay.” The person says, his voice rough behind her. “Clarke, I got you, you’re okay.”

 

She allows him to hold her until her breathing returns to normal. By that time, the rustling of the coffee shop quiets and all she can hear is her own breathing. Gripping the thick forearm in front of her, Clarke says, “I’m sorry.”

 

She doesn’t know who she’s saying it to, but she feels safe. The pain is still there, but it’s manageable. Turning her head, she freezes. “Bellamy?”

 

Bellamy slowly loosens his grip. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke states.

 

Neither of them make any effort to move.

 

Clarke knows that she should. But there’s something that’s keeping her grounded there. “Don’t be sorry,” Bellamy says. “Don’t ever be sorry for this.”

 

Clarke brings her hands up, wiping away her tears. “I-I forgot this day.” She says, her voice quaking. In a whispered tone, she says, “I never forget this day.”

 

Bellamy hesitates before asking, “What day?”

 

Clarke thinks of all the people aching in her coffee shop. “The day my dad died.” She states, suckng in a breath. Bellamy stiffens behind her, his grip steeling behind her. She almost doesn’t register him there. “I’ve never forgotten before. Harper asked for a day off because she had something with Monty and  I said yes and…”

 

“And you’re here.” He says quietly behind her.

 

“I can’t believe I forgot.” She chokes, holding onto him. “I can’t believe—”

 

“It’s okay, Clarke.” Bellamy says against her back. She can tell he’s trying his best to make sure they have some semblance of space, but it’s impossible with how he’s hoisted her up on his lap. “You didn’t forget him, you forgot the day. It’s different.”

 

“How is that different?” Clarke asks, her chest heaving. She feels herself working up into a panic again, but Bellamy doesn’t even question, he pulls her close again. She feels his chin against her shoulder and she tries to use that to ground her. “I work every day, trying to make people feel a little better, but this day – this one day, I can’t do it. I-I can’t be there for them because I can’t be there for myself and—”

 

“I’m here for you.”

 

When he says it, she freezes. He seems to realize what he’s said because a tension settles in the room.

 

No one’s said that in her café before.

 

Oh god, her café.

 

She tries to untangle herself from him and says, “I have to go back out there—”

 

“I kicked everyone out.” Bellamy states.

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry, I know I probably stepped over a line, but you’re here by yourself and I didn’t think it would be good to be crowded with strangers.”

 

“I’m not by myself.”

 

Craning her neck, she looks at him.

 

It’s odd, how a seemingly unimportant event made everything different. She never expected this, then again she never thought a customer would cause this much mayhem in her life. Wiping the tears from underneath her eyes, Clarke bows her head. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Why?” He asks, aghast. “What could you possibly be sorry about?”

 

Clarke swipes under her eyes again and again, dislodging herself from his lap and sitting next to him. She doesn’t pull away though. Settling next to his shoulder, she leans into him. “This is supposed to be a safe space for people. A safe space for people not to be freaked out by the owner losing her mind.”

 

“I think it’s alright to need a safe place for yourself too.”

 

“Yeah,” she says distantly, but she doesn’t really _believe_ it. Instead, she places her head on his shoulder, telling herself to push any attraction and feeling she has for the man aside.

 

Clarke gives herself this moment of sadness, away from the what-ifs, away from the implications of her friendship with Bellamy. Under shelves of flour and vanilla and coffee, Clarke takes a moment and makes her own safe space.

 

No magic included.

 

***

 

The first time she sees him outside the coffee shop, she’s meeting Wells, Harper, Jasper, Monty, and the loud-mouthed cook from the restaurant next door named Murphy, for drinks. She hadn’t spoken to Bellamy since her meltdown in the pantry – he hadn’t been in the café a few days after. Clarke resigned herself that she’s scared him away, pines a bit, and needs a stiff drink to make everything feel a little better.

 

When she seats herself next to Wells, she starts to take off her jacket when she notices a familiar face from across the bar.

 

“Oh god,” Clarke breathes, all but ducking. She doesn’t actually duck under the table, but she buries her face in Wells’ shoulder, which causes him to immediately look to see what she’s avoiding.

 

“Ah,” he states when he finds Bellamy surrounded by a handful of people. “He still hasn’t come into the café since the other day?”

 

“No,” Clarke mutters in her best friend’s shoulder, trying to ignore the pain in her chest that aches when she sees him laugh at something someone says. Clarke knows logically she has not right to be _jealous_ , but here she is, feeling jealous all the same.

 

“Ooh, is it hot guy?” Jasper asks, craning his neck.

 

“Hot guy?” Murphy asks, taking a swig of his whiskey. When he catches Clarke downing her own, he slides a drink over toward her. “Shockingly, you look like you need this more than me.”

 

“I’ve always thought you were astute.” Clarke says gratefully, gripping the glass and finishing it with a quick drink. She shudders at the burn, earning her an exasperated sigh from Wells.

 

“Actually, you’ve always called me a dumbass.” Murphy says. “I don’t think you’ve ever said I was smart.”

 

“Well, that’s because you’re a dumbass.” Clarke says, trying to move out of sight in case Bellamy has the misfortune of looking over here.

 

“She’s not wrong.” Monty shrugs.

 

Murphy fixes him a look. “Just because I won’t punch Clarke in the face, doesn’t mean I won’t punch you.”

 

Monty scowls. “That’s not fair! Clarke clearly could take a swing better than I. I bruise like a peach!”

 

Jasper nods. “It’s true. He does.”

 

“Yeah,” Harper says distantly.

 

“I hate everything that just happened.” Murphy makes a face. “Why are we looking over in the corner?”

 

“We are decidedly _not_ looking over in the corner.” Clarke hisses, snapping her fingers in front of Murphy’s face.

 

Murphy doesn’t listen, just like she expected him not to. “I dunno, you guys keep looking over there. Are you distracted by the group of really attractive people? God, how are they all so hot? I think I need to be a part of that group. Level up or something.”

 

Jasper makes a disgruntled squawk. “Wait, are you implying we’re not hot?”

 

“Yes. And I’m not implying it, I’m saying it to your face.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Harper says, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

 

“It’s true,” Clarke offers. “Harper is very attractive.”

 

“I am, thank you.”

 

“Clarke is freaking out because the customer she has feelings for is over there and he hasn’t been in the shop for a few days, which Clarke believes means that she scared him off by being vulnerable the other day.” Wells drones on, taking a drink from his beer.

 

Murphy seems to contemplate that. “Yeah, that makes sense to me.”

 

Gesturing at Murphy, Clarke glowers at Wells, who scowls. “C’mon, man!” He cries. “Any rational person would realize that’s _crazy._ ”

 

“Who would ever accuse Murphy of being rational?” Harper asks with a smirk.

 

“Valid.” Jasper and Monty say at the same time.

 

“So are you afraid one of those girls are his girlfriend? And that you crossed a line by being vulnerable and now he’s avoiding you because he didn’t mean for anything to go past casual flirting and he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, so he’s just boycotted your café all together?” Murphy asks, straining his neck.

 

Clarke widens her eyes. “Well I am _now._ ”

 

Wells kicks him under the table. “Dude, _ow_.” Murphy cries.

 

“I have tackled you before and I will do it again.”

 

“Please, like you can ever kill a cockroach.” Murphy says absentmindedly, still focusing on where Bellamy is. “Maybe it’s strong ponytail over there. She’s super hot – whoops, nevermind.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘nevermind?’” Clarke asks. “I saw her and she is very attractive. Bellamy is also very attractive. They would have the most attractive—”

 

“She’s making out with another guy – holy hell, is he a super model hanging out with other super models?” Murphy makes a disgusted face. “I find everyone in that group annoying on principle.”

 

“I still maintain that we are equally, if not more attractive.” Monty offers.

 

“Here, here!” Jasper toasts.

 

“So she may not be his girlfriend.” Clarke says, trying to loop the conversation back around. “But that doesn’t mean that the other day—”

 

“Hey man!” Murphy calls out, waving at the group of them.

 

Clarke could strangle him with her bare hands. She yanks him down so he’s seated and facing her. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I like to stir the pot.”

 

“I am going to kill you.”

 

“Honestly, if anyone could, I fully believe you’d be the one who could finally end me. That said, I’m not afraid of you. You’re took much of a softie to ever commit murder.”

 

“You clearly don’t know me very well.”

 

Murphy waves her comment aside. “Okay, I’ll stop messing with you, but are we in the sixth grade? You like him and you had a moment and now he’s being weird. Stop drinking my whiskey, ovary up, and ask him what’s his damage before I do.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“Clearly, you’re the one who doesn’t know me.” Murphy snorts. “It’s always fun being the mysterious stranger who knows too much.”

 

“Yeah, I can’t be that person because he knows me.” Wells sighs. “Otherwise I’d be over there right now getting intel.”

 

“I need better friends.” Clarke muses.

 

“Even us?” Jasper asks, wide-eyed.

 

“Last week you set my back room on fire.”

 

“Only for a minute. And we put it out almost instantly.”

 

Clarke reaches out to grab Harper’s arm. “Save me.”

 

“If only I had that power.”

 

The door opens to the bar and a figure walks in. Murphy gets on his knees in the booth and cries, “Oh my god, the most beautiful woman in the world just walked in.”

 

Everyone flinches, rolling their eyes when they see who’s walked through the door. “I cannot believe in all the gin joints—”

 

“Can you not be weird?” Clarke asks. “We will let you out to make out with your fiancé.”

 

“Can you believe that we are blessed by this angel—”

 

Emori walks up, setting her bag on the table. “Who let Murphy get whiskey on a Wednesday?”

 

“Do you think we can stop him from ordering whiskey?” Monty cries. “We’re not God.”

 

“We should be though.” Jasper amends.

 

They high five and everyone else exchanges glances to ensure that they know that they’re grateful it’s not the case.

 

The issue with Murphy screaming his love out is it causes everyone to look over to where they are, including a certain group that Clarke has been doing her best to avoid. “Clarke!” Bellamy cries out, raising a hand to where she is.

 

Fortunately, the rational part of her brain encourages her to flick her fingers in his direction before turned back around in the booth to hide. “Yeah, he totally looks like he’s upset with you,” Murphy says as Emori clambers over Jasper and Monty to get to Murphy. No one even flinches when she does it – everyone’s used to Murphy and Emori having zero boundaries.

 

“He does?” Clarke cries, burying her face in her hands.

 

“Yeah, he just expresses his frustration by walking over here.”

 

Clarke peeks from behind her fingers. “He is not.”

 

“That’s why I like to keep you on your toes. To prepare you for moments like this when you never know.” Murphy smirks. “Hey man!” He calls, reaching over Clarke’s head for a figure approaching the booth.

 

“If I haven’t said it in the past five minutes, I fully plan on murdering you.”

 

“Everyone says that, you’re not special.”

 

“Hey Clarke,” Bellamy says, reaching the front of the table. “How’s it going?”

 

“Oh, you know.” Clarke mutters, trying to get her bearings with a few shots of whiskey in her. Harper elbows her side and she coughs. “I’m good. How about you?”

 

“Desperately in need of a refill.” Bellamy smiles, tipping his glass in her direction. “Can I get you something?”

 

Clarke’s eyes dart to Wells, who is pointedly not looking at her and taking a drink of his own beer. “Uh, sure.”

 

“Great!” He says with an easy smile that she can’t even begin to read. “Good to see you again, Wells. Harper. Jasper, Monty – wow, everyone’s here.”

 

Jasper drapes an arm around Monty. “We like each other.”

 

Harper shoves it off playfully. “A little too much, some would say.”

 

“They’re just afraid of our love.”

 

“Aren’t we all?”

 

“You too, man.” Wells interjects before the group can get too far down the rabbit hole. “We’ve missed you at the café the past few days—” Clarke shoots him a glare and tries to kick him. “—we haven’t seen you.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve been moving my sister to a new state – I just got back today.” Bellamy groans. “Trust me, I never realized how awful every other café in the world is until a road trip to Colorado. I’m so glad I’m back.”

 

“Aren’t we all?” Harper says with a mischievous smile.

 

Clarke whips her head in her direction. “You too?” She mouths, betrayed.

 

Harper merely shrugs.

 

When the pleasantries die off, Clarke manages to get out of the booth with little help from anyone she’s surrounded by. Bellamy beams at her as she does so, not quite sure of what to say when the two of them approach the bar. “It’s good to see you,” Bellamy says, waving his hand at the bartender. “I don’t think you realize how quickly going to your café has become a very important part of my day.”

 

“It’s what I’m here for.” Clarke says, not able to push down how uncomfortable she’s feeling. All she can think of is the last time she saw him, he had his arms wrapped around her and was calming her down from a very real panic, despite the two only having a handful of conversations beforehand.

 

“You know, I really wanted to call,” Bellamy continues, still looking down the bar. It strikes Clarke that he’s not actually looking at her, but continues to focus on the bartender helping other people. That’s when she sees how he’s wringing his hands as he speaks, handing his dark curls out of his eyes every once and a while. “Because after everything… I didn’t want you to think I just like… disappeared.” Sighing when the bartender goes to another group, he finally turns to her. “But I didn’t have your number.”

 

Somehow, his nervousness has calmed her down. Placing her hand on his arm, she smiles at him. “Bellamy Blake, are you asking for my number?”

 

Bellamy huffs a laugh, the tension filtering from his chest. “You say it like I had an ulterior motive.”

 

“Didn’t you?”

 

“I didn’t when I started this conversation, but yeah, now I think I do.” He laughs, now turning his back to the distracted bartender. “It wasn’t my intention to ask for you number, but I think it would be best if I did.”

 

“As a social service?”

 

“As a social service.” Bellamy nods. “Also,” he continues, drawing out his words and leaning against the bar. “I just… like talking to you? I think that may be a weird thing to say.”

 

“A little,” Clarke says, poking fun. “But I like talking to you too. So it works out for me.”

 

Taking a bar napkin, Clarke pulls a pen out of her purse and quickly jots her number down. “Here,” she says. “For next time.”

 

“Next time?” Bellamy asks, surprised. Clarke doesn’t joke it off, though. She merely stares directly back at him, almost daring him to reveal any sort of bluff. “Next time.” He states.

 

Finally, as if the Universe knew they were having a private moment, the bartender steps up between them. “What can I get you guys?”

 

Clarke all but closes her eyes in exasperation, but they order and Bellamy turns back to her. “But, if you don’t mind my asking, you alright?”

 

She lets out a breath. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry I put that on you—”

 

“For the last time, will you stop apologizing for having a very normal, human reaction to a bad day?”

 

“—but I’m very grateful you were there. So thank you for doing everything you did. I know I wasn’t in the right space to say it, but I really appreciated it. I don’t know if I could explain how much.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me.” Bellamy says, turning his glass slightly. “But I understand. Which is why I felt bad for leaving you immediately after.”

 

“Seriously, don’t feel—”

 

“I want to make something clear. I didn’t leave because of anything that happened that day.”

 

Clarke startles, throwing a glance in Wells’ direction, although he’s not paying attention. He’s in some heated argument with Murphy, which is the norm whenever the two are together, not even pretending to spy on them. And he calls himself her best friend.

 

“My sister may have yelled at me.” Bellamy says, following her gaze. “She mentioned something about how any normal person may think it might look like running.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clarke says in an entirely non-convincing way, taking a drink. “I barely even thought about it.”  

 

“Are you saying you don’t think of me, Clarke?” Bellamy asks with an infuriating smirk, leaning toward her.

  
Clarke tries to ignore how her stomach flips and finds herself leaning closer. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“Good.” He breathes, leaning closer. “I felt so ridiculous that first day, when you invited me in. I vowed once I was done, I would leave and never come back. But there’s something about you that—” Bellamy coughs. “I mean, your _café_ ,” he corrects with a sheepish grin and Clarke can’t help the smile stretching on her face. “It just makes me _feel_ better than I have in a while.”

 

Clarke’s smile falters. “I-I’m sorry,” she manages to choke out, leaning slightly away from him. “What?”

 

Bellamy frowns at her reaction. “I just mean, it’s been a while since I’ve felt—”

 

Clarke doesn’t hear the rest of it.

 

Of course.

 

None of it was real. Of course it was her magic. It was always been her magic. It was never not her magic. Clarke sees that Bellamy’s mouth is moving, but she can’t bring herself to pay attention to anything he’s saying.

 

It’s like she wakes up and falls apart all at once.

 

Clarke places a hand to her chest when her breath leaves her, trying to keep herself calm enough to catch any tears that may fall.

 

It isn’t until Bellamy reaches out that Clarke blinks. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

 

“Clarke, is everything okay?”

 

“Yes, of course it is!” Clarke says in a voice that’s too high and definitely too chipper. “Actually, I just realized I had a delivery scheduled for tonight, so I need to be running off. I have pastries coming in.” She fumbles out, cursing herself when Bellamy glances to where Jasper and Monty are at the booth, laughing boisterously with one another.

 

“Wait—”

 

“So sorry, I’ll see you soon, alright?”

 

Before he can say anything, Clarke whirls around and runs out the door.

 

***

 

Usually, there’s a special feeling about being in the café first thing in the morning.

 

The clock is barely past midnight and Clarke unlocks the front door, greeted to nothing more than chairs on the top of tables and moonlight pouring through the cracks of her blinds.

 

Clarke maneuvers herself slowly throughout the café until she approaches the espresso machine. Placing her hand on the handle, she runs her fingers across the metal. Her lip trembles as she runs her fingers across it, then the handles of the mugs.

 

Turning around and sliding down the side of the cabinets, Clarke buries her face in her arms.

 

She always knew. She knew this was the risk of baring it.

 

Clarke knew she could lose herself in it.

 

Clarke isn’t sure how long she sits on the floor, her face buried in her arms. When there’s a ring at the door and a turn of the handle, she glances up.

 

Wells stands in the doorway, frantically looking around until he finds her. He’s the only non-employee she’s ever given a key. Rushing to her, Wells drops in front of her. “Are you okay?”

 

Clarke wipes under her eye, but it doesn’t help. “Yeah,” she breathes, her voice cracking.

 

“Bellamy said you just took off – what happened?”

 

Clarke replays the conversation in her head, a few more tears escaping before she can stop them. “He said that he didn’t know how he managed before the café.”

 

Wells frowns. “That doesn’t sound bad—”

 

“He said he’s never felt as good as he has.” Clarke cuts him off and Wells shuts his eyes, his hands ghosting over her knees. Sucking in a breath, she says through her tears, “I never understood what you were talking about before. Whenever you warned me. I figured, as long as people didn’t have the burden it didn’t matter, you know?”

 

Wells moves so he’s next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She leans into his chest, putting a hand over her face.

 

“I never got it until now.” Clarke says, unable to say it without having to start the sentence over. “It was never real, you know? He didn’t care for me. It’s always been my magic. It’s always been about my magic.”

 

Wells pulls her closer, enveloping her in a hug. “I never liked you doing this because I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He says carefully. “I didn’t like how you got headaches or chest pains. I didn’t think of this.”

 

“You were right,” Clarke says. “You were right.”

 

“I wish I wasn’t, Clarke.” Well says. “I’ve never wanted to be wrong more. But—”

 

“But?” Clarke wedges herself so she can look at him. “What do you mean, ‘but?’”

 

“But, I watched you guys. I watched you in the café and I heard about how he kicked everyone out? That’s not only a magic thing.” Wells says. “That’s… something more.”

 

“Please don’t.” Clarke says, shaking her head. “Please—”

 

“I’m not saying your magic doesn’t have something to do with it. But isn’t your magic just a piece of you? A piece of yourself you’re giving to people to make them feel better? Wouldn’t it make sense that if he’s responding to your magic, he’s responding to you?”

 

Clarke doesn’t even know how to respond to that.

 

So she doesn’t.

 

“I never wanted to cross this line,” she manages after a while. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I wasn’t supposed to _feel_ like this.”

 

Wells reaches out and places a hand on the side of her face, bringing her closer to him. “I know.”

 

“This would be a good time to say ‘I told you so.’”

 

“No,” Wells breathes above her. “No, it isn’t.”

 

It’s why Clarke loves him. She lets him hold her there, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, in the dark of her café when no one else is watching. She thinks of her magic and for the first time, wishes it wasn’t there.

 

***

 

Clarke can count on one hand the amount of times she’s taken a vacation. In fact, when she calls Harper to ask if she’ll be the acting manager of the café for a week, Harper laughs. When Clarke doesn’t say ‘just kidding!’ as expected, Harper sobers and offers to take more than a week.

 

Clarke can’t remember the last time she’s been away from the café for more than a day or two. She spends it in her apartment painting, trying to get lost in color and worlds different from her own. Of course, she knows she can’t hide forever – what’s she going to do, just never be in the café anymore?

 

If she thinks about it a little too much, she flushes with embarrassment, so she does her best to paint as much of her feelings out as she possibly can before returning to work. When she does, there’s something a little more painful in the air than she remembers. Customers are so happy to see her, but she couldn’t do much more than make sure their coffees are the perfect temperature.

 

Wells makes his way in the café, shooting a very obvious glance to Harper, who sighs. “So, you’re back.”

 

Clarke brushes her stray hairs behind her ears. All she could do was pull her hair back in a loose ponytail today, doing her best to be as vibrant she usually is. “I just needed a few days to recuperate and relax.”

 

“Yes, the descriptor I would use to describe you is relaxed.” Wells says, leaning against the counter. He frowns when she places her hands on it, his tea steeping in a loose bag draped on the side. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asks.

 

Clarke sets it down, blinking. She hadn’t even meant to try and push some magic in it, but her mind is in another place and she stares. She had done it. She put magic in his tea and it was like she was on autopilot. Giving pieces of herself away because she didn’t know what to do anymore. “Oh,” she says quietly. “I don’t know.”

 

Wells points at the mug. “I don’t want that.”

 

“Y-Yeah,” Clarke says, but she doesn’t pick it up.

 

“You know how I feel about this.”

 

“I _know_ , Wells!” Clarke exclaims. “I wasn’t thinking. But this is what I do. This is what I’m meant to do. This is the only thing that I am here for. I will take people’s pain because that’s what I _do_.”

 

“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.” Wells snaps. “This isn’t good for you. And now it’s actually affecting your life and you when you’re not in this place. I kept my mouth shut—”

 

Clarke snorts humorlessly.

 

“Because I thought that it was just a temporary thing, but we need to discuss—”

 

The door opens and Clarke sees dark curls bow into the shop. “I have to go get something from the back.”

 

“Clarke—”

 

She moves until she’s in the back pantry, pressed against a wall like she had been all those days ago. Clarke tries to ignore the fact that she can hear Bellamy’s voice from back here, even over the bustling of customers. Leaning against a shelf of coffee beans, Clarke shuts her eyes.

 

“Clarke still not in?” She hears Bellamy ask and she tries to absorb into the coffee beans.

 

“Uh,” Clarke hears Harper start. “Yeah, she called in sick today again.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Bellamy says, his voice falling. “Is she okay? She hasn’t been in for a while.”

 

“She got a nasty flu,” Harper continues. Somewhere, she hears Wells huff. “I can give her a message, if you like.”

 

“I—” Bellamy starts. “Just let her know that… actually. Nevermind. I’ll just… see you around.”

 

Clarke shuts her eyes.

 

She waits a few minutes until a set of footsteps grow closer. When she opens her eyes, she’s face to face with Wells, who’s leaning against the door frame of the pantry. “Is he gone?” She asks, not able to look at him.

 

“Yup. He’s gone.” Wells states, not moving.

 

Sniffing, Clarke wipes under her eyes. “Is now the time you say ‘I told you so?’”

 

Clearly despite his best efforts, Wells chuckles. “I wish it was. I would love nothing more than to say I told you so. But your face is doing the thing and I think it would make me feel worse.” Sighing, he moves next to her, their shoulders touching as they lean against the shelving. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. But I think you should talk to him.”

 

“Wells—”

 

He puts his hands up. “I know what you’re going to say. That the only reason you think he has feelings for you is because of your magic. But listen. You know how I feel about it. How I won’t drink from a mug you’ve done that to, because I can’t even begin to think about you hurting yourself for me. And I’ll bet that everyone who comes in here would agree. But Clarke? I think if you stop putting in your magic to the coffees, people will still come.”

 

Clarke laughs a hollow laugh. “They come here—”

 

“They don’t come here because of your magic. They come here because _you’re_ magic.” Wells laughs. “People come here because they like _you_. Jasper and Monty would hurt anyone who came against you – or at least tell Harper what to do. That woman is fiercely loyal to you. Hell, if I even breathed a word of something bad happening to you to Murphy, you know he’d come in here with his wide selection of kitchen knives. I’m fairly certain Hell child would do her own damage.”

 

“That’s besides the point, Wells, you guys are my friends and—”

 

“It’s not, though. People have been asking about you all week. No one has mentioned anything about the drinks, no one has complained that they aren’t as good. People are worried about _you_ because they care. Your magic is tied to who you are and they want to make sure you’re okay.” He nudges her should with his. “Now, it’s up to you. But I think Bellamy would want to know what’s going on.”

 

“I can’t… I can’t stand in front of him and tell him he’s only infatuated because I made his lattes a little kinder to him.”

 

“Of course you can’t, that sounds absolutely crazy. But you can’t be afraid to put yourself out there. Sure – there’s a small chance, and I mean _small chance_ , that the only reason Bellamy is attracted to you because of your magic. _Small chance. Miniscule._ ”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Okay, Wells, I got it.”

 

“But you can’t take people’s pain and not do anything to connect with them. You’ll stop being a person – to them, but more importantly, yourself. You can’t take things from people and not give them the opportunity to take things back. And if you have feelings for Bellamy, you should tell him the truth. The whole truth. And let him decide. Be _brave_ , Clarke. You can’t keep running away from your feelings. You can’t run and run forever.”

 

Clarke wraps an arm around his and pulls Wells close. As usual, he’s a grounding force, as he always has been in her life. He maneuvers so he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in. “It’s very hard to argue with you when you’re making so much sense.”

 

“Annoying, right?” Wells grins. “Actually, you should listen to me because I’m always right. One might even say I told you so.”

 

“I thought you weren’t going to gloat!”

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

“Tea privileges cut off.”

 

“Come on! I have to pick up Madi later! I demand payment!”

 

“Be nicer to me.” Clarke says gazing up at him. “And I’ll think about it.”

 

“Impossible woman.” He mutters, putting a kiss in her hair.

 

He doesn’t say anything else, though. The two stand there, among the coffee and napkins, taking a moment before heading back to the bustle outside.

 

 

***

 

The last day he’s a customer is on Valentine’s Day.

 

Clarke’s in the café before it opens as she always is, letting the smell of espresso pouring through the machine calm her down. The grind of the beans is loud, so much so that she barely hears a knock at the door. Frowning, Clarke turns around and makes her way to the door, pausing when she sees who’s there.

 

It’s like the first day she ever saw him. His rain jacket is pulled over his head as the rain drips down it. His hands are around his eyes as he leans in, a small smile on his face, hesitating. Reaching down for the lock, Clarke opens the door. “Hey,” she breathes, gripping the door far harder than she ever intended to.

 

“Hey.” He nods back. “I know it isn’t open hours – I see the sign – but would you mind if I came in?”

 

“No,” she finds herself saying, opening the door. He shuffles in, standing in the middle of the café, rain dripped down his jacket and onto the floor. It pools at his feet and he pulls his hood off, shaking his wet curls.

 

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Bellamy says quickly, words pouring out of him. “I even tried to draft out a few texts, but my students informed me that I wasn’t coming across good enough.”

 

“You let your students read your texts?”

 

“‘Let’ is a strong word. ‘Stealing my phone and reading my texts’ is more accurate.” Bellamy says, running his hands through his wet hair. “But really, they were just trying to help. Apparently I haven’t been my chipper self.”

 

Clarke frowns. “Are you ever chipper?”

 

“I’ve been known to smile without reason on occasion or two.” Bellamy says with a laugh, but it falters. “Clarke, about that night, I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”

 

“Please don’t be sorry.” Clarke speaks over him. “Please – just don’t. It’s not your fault.”

 

Bellamy pauses. It’s clear he’s trying to think of what to say, carefully asking, “May I ask what happened? Because I’ve replayed that night again and again and I can’t figure it out.”

 

Clarke sets herself. Wells’ words _‘Be brave’_ play in her ears and she looks at her café. Everything she built with love and care and hints of magic.

 

_Be. Brave._

 

“Okay,” she starts, putting her hands up. “I’m going to be really honest and we’ll see where it goes. That okay?”

 

“No, I’d prefer you lie to me.”

 

“Hush,” Clarke snaps and he grins. “I really like you, Bellamy.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. Bellamy blinks, clearly surprised, but doesn’t move. “But here’s the thing—”

 

“You have a rule about not dating customers.”

 

Clarke stops. “No,” she says. “But that’s not a bad rule.” She continues thoughtfully.

 

“ _So_ not the point of what I was trying to do.”

 

“But—”

 

“You were saying? You find me endlessly charming and are super into me?”

 

“Bellamy.”

 

“Fine. You gave me coffee for free once and I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since. Continue.”

 

Clarke can’t help it – she blushes. “Anyways, here’s the thing.” The words are harder than she expects. Clarke tells herself Wells is right – she has to tell him one way or another. “I – I put magic in my coffees.”

 

Bellamy recoils. “What, like drugs?”

 

“What, no!” Clarke exclaims. “Magic like magic. It helps people in their day. It makes them feel… a little better. It’s only in small ways, but it’s there. And I really like you. So when you said that you haven’t felt like this in a while—”

 

“Oh my god,” Bellamy says to himself. “You thought—"

 

Then, he doesn’t hesitate.

 

It happens very quickly.

 

It takes two steps to reach her. When he does, he wraps an arm around the small of her back and pulls her close, cupping the sides of her face. His thumb brushes against her cheek. “You think that I’m entranced by your magic.” He states gruffly.

 

“I did until this moment.”

 

Bellamy leans in, so close his lips brush against hers. “I can state for complete certainty that the only thing I’m entranced by is you.”

 

Without waiting, Clarke is the one that closes the distance. He doesn’t seem to mind, pulling her close so that she’s pressed against him. Running her fingers through his hair, she pulls him down closer to where she is. She pulls him close until the two bump against one of the counters. “You know, I had this whole thing planned out,” Bellamy says when they break to take a breath.

 

“Yeah?” Clarke asks, running her hands down his neck until they slip slightly under the collar of his shirt and press him further onto her.

 

“It’s Valentine’s Day, so I was going to start with the history of St. Valentine.”

 

Clarke pauses, unable to focus because she’s fighting back a laugh. “Have you actually ever flirted with an actual human woman?”

 

“Seems to be working right now.”

 

“What can I say?” Clarke says, hopping onto the counter she’s run into and pulling him down to her. “I find it an aphrodisiac.”

 

“Then might I interest you on the Rise and Fall of Rome?”

 

“Can you, please?” She says, laughing between kisses. “It’s making me weak at the knees.”

 

Except all he does is laugh, the noise mixing with the smell of coffee, sound of drip brewing, and the light peaking through the blinds.

 

For the first time since Clarke started the café, she opens just a little late.

 

***

 

The café in the morning is still Clarke’s favorite time of the day.

 

It’s quiet, tranquil, and there’s someone in the corner table, pen in mouth, grading papers before going to work. Clarke tries to focus whenever she starts, but what can she say – she’s easily distracted. Just so that Wells has another thing to gloat about, Clarkes starts pulling back on her magic, saving it for people who need a little extra help. No more people in a rush, no more pouring herself into everything. As Bellamy likes to tell her, no one needs to bear it alone. That they can figure it out. Together.

 

Besides.

 

They can make magic of their own.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oh my gosh. So I got a little bit carried away.
> 
> This was so much fun to write! Meet Cute Coffee!AU – with a little angst thrown in because I’m mean and have very limited self control. As for the smile cookies – that’s from a bakery in my home town! They’re silly sugar cookies, but they just cheer you up…
> 
> I really hope you liked it love, and I hope you have such a wonderful Valentine’s Day! So, so, so much! <3 <3 <3


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